


The Gut-wrenching Challenges to Secretly Loving your Best Friend

by the_sky_is_forever



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Male Character, Drunken Confessions, M/M, not really rock but whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 20:25:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5554076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sky_is_forever/pseuds/the_sky_is_forever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feuilly and Bahorel have always been best friends, and now they even have a band together, but sometimes Feuilly can't take it when Bahorel flirts with all the hot girls they come across. (and when he's drunk it's really hard not to let something slip.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gut-wrenching Challenges to Secretly Loving your Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first bahorel and feuilly fic and it was originally a jalex fic i started a million years ago hence the reference to an all time low lyric claimed as bahorel and feuilly's own.  
> hope it's alright - let me know :)  
> if there are any errors give me a shout especially name-wise because i've changed who's who in this fic a million and one times lmao

Feuilly was sat at the bar of whatever club he’d been dragged into. Joly and Bossuet were making fools of themselves on the dance floor. Grantaire was God knows where, probably with one of his boyfriends. Bahorel, however, was the one who had all of Feuilly’s attention. This was mostly because Bahorel was on the other side of the bar, fending off hot girls, but not looking too put out by this.

Feuilly watched him with his stomach in knots, waiting for the moment he chose one to take off to some hotel room. It’s got to happen someday, right?

A shot for every time a girl flirted with Bahorel; a shot for every time he let them. He got drunk fast.

His eyes never left Bahorel.

As he watched, a tall blonde draped herself over Bahorel, running her hand down his arm and smiling seductively. Bahorel smiled back, easily.

Feuilly gritted his teeth and took two more shots for good measure.

There had been a time when Feuilly had loved nothing more than going out partying with the guys. Sometimes Bahorel got a little touchy feely when he was drunk, why would he not love it? Of course, that was before Bahorel had got really popular with the ladies.

He turned his eyes from Bahorel briefly, calling across to the bartender, asking for more, and when he turned back Bahorel was staring at him desperately, mouthing at him to be rescued. Feuilly laughed a little at that and swung himself down off the stool, wobbling on his feet, and started towards Bahorel. “Alrigh’, leave him alone,” he slurred at the girl.

She looked at him with derision, and said, “‘Rel doesn’t mind,” in a simpering voice.

The stupid nickname dragged across Feuilly’s nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard and he glared at her. “Actually, he _does_. So fuck off.”

Bahorel looked very uncomfortable and Feuilly got frustrated. He grabbed the girl’s hands and lifted them off Bahorel and gave her a little shove in the direction of the exit. She looked offended.

“Thanks, Feuilly,” Bahorel said, giving him a light punch on the arm, “She wouldn’t leave me alone.” He set off, moving in the direction of Joly and Bossuet.

“Anythin’ for you,” Feuilly mumbled after him.

As soon as Bahorel hit the dance floor, Feuilly was reunited with alcohol.

-

Feuilly watched as Bahorel laughed, chatting with Feuilly at the edge of the dance floor. All Feuilly could think was that he should be over there too. Or Bahorel should be with him.

He didn’t trust himself to be near Bahorel.

Feuilly wasn’t actually sure when he’d fallen in love with his friend. If there had ever been a difference to what he knew he felt and what he used to feel he no longer knew. He felt pin prick tears in his eyes and cursed himself for being so pathetic. He’d long since swapped the shots for beer and the bottle in his hand felt hot.

He wasn’t aware of what he was doing until the bottle was shattering on the floor and people were turning round and gaping. Bahorel was staring, his jaw a little slack, and Feuilly couldn’t take it. He stumbled in the direction of the bathroom, glaring at people who tried to help him.

As the door swung closed behind him, someone grabbed his arm.

He started to fall, held up only by the hand on his arm, “Oh, Feuilly,” Bahorel muttered. “Why didn’t you tell me you were this drunk?”

“None of your business,” Feuilly answered, making Bahorel let him slide to the floor, back against the cold wall. He looked up.

Bahorel’s big brown eyes were watching him nervously. He was beautiful. So fucking beautiful.

Feuilly moaned and let his head hang down, his hair falling in front of his eyes.

“Actually, it is my business,” Bahorel told him firmly, crouching down and pushing some of Feuilly’s sweaty hair out of his face gently. “It really fucking is.”

Feuilly’s head was spinning and Bahorel was close, so close, and he couldn’t breathe. “It’s your fault,” he whispered.

“How’s it my fault?” Bahorel asked, sounding a little insulted but mostly concerned.

Feuilly shrugged and shook his head, “Forget it.”

“Feuilly,” Bahorel said determinedly, “What do you mean?”

Feuilly was drunk, too drunk, and Bahorel was so beautiful. His mind was spinning and his heart was beating fast. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing. “All those girls,” he slurred.

Bahorel froze. Blinked. “What?”

“All those girls,” Feuilly said again, his eyes were unfocused, staring at a point on the ground. “Everywhere. All the time. In your hotel rooms, in our dressing rooms, on the bus, at clubs, out in the streets, all those girls.” His lip trembled. “All those girls… and you never notice.”

Bahorel stared at him in confusion and Feuilly kept stumbling on.

“I’m always there, always watching, I don’t wanna, but God I can’t not. They’re all over you, all the time, and you fucking love it, and I’m there drinking away everything and, fuck, you never notice.” He was getting more and more worked up, and his voice hitched with emotion and drunkenness. “You never notice, Bahorel.”

“I don’t understand,” Bahorel said and Feuilly let out a sound that could have been a laugh or it could have been a sob.

“I know you don’t, I know you don’t, because it’s a joke, it’s a fucking joke to you,” Feuilly spat, becoming desperate and slightly angry. “You, the fans, everyone, it’s a joke to you all.”

“What is?” Bahorel whispered, trying to understand what his best friend was trying to say.

Feuilly scoffed and put on a ridiculous voice, “ _Feuilly and Bahorel_ ,” he mocked, “The secret love.” He laughed and it sounded so self-pitying. “The joke, the made-up fiction, the stage act. Only not so much an act, y’know?”

Bahorel’s jaw dropped open ever so slightly and Feuilly could almost see him processing everything. “You’re drunk,” Bahorel tried to say.

“No!” Feuilly shouted. “Well, fuck, yes, but I’m not _just_ drunk.” Tears were filling his eyes, and he was helpless to stop it, no matter how pathetic it made him feel. “I love you, Bahorel.” He said it like a curse. “Fuck, I love you. I wish I didn’t. I wish I didn’t have to be the pathetic guy in love with his best friend but here I fucking am. So tell me to get lost or-” He broke off, breathing heavily, and tears were streaming down his face.

Bahorel stared at him, eyes wide, looking so lost and so scared and Feuilly’s heart was splintering into pieces. “I didn’t- I never- I-”

“I know,” Feuilly interrupted, “Fuck, I know.”

“I never knew.”

“That was obvious,” Feuilly whispered; he felt sick, so, so sick and he was sure he’d regret it all in the morning. The hangover would be a killer, but that would be pure joy in comparison to the memory of this conversation.

He tried to pull himself to his feet but ended up staying sat down, curling up as small as he could. Bahorel wasn’t touching him, wasn’t holding him up, wasn’t pushing his hair out of his eyes, and wasn’t comforting him.

Feuilly sniffed. “I always pretend. I wouldn’t for anyone else, but for you? Sure.”

Bahorel moved so that he had something to lean on; he had his back against the wall and he was staring across the bathroom away from Feuilly.

“But... I don’t- Feuilly, I thought you were straight?” Bahorel stumbled through a sentence.

“Tell that to my body every time I see you.”

Bahorel smirked a little but almost immediately went back to blank staring.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Feuilly mumbled. “I meant like heart rate and butterflies and happiness.”

Bahorel nodded slowly. He got to his feet. “C’mon, we should get you back to the bus.”

Feuilly looked up at him, looking so small, and nodded, holding out a hand hesitantly for Bahorel to pull him up. Once he was on his feet, they were face to face. They stared at each other. Feuilly’s face was still wet from his tears, and Bahorel’s was almost white with shock.

“Hey, Bahorel?” Feuilly whispered, “Do you think- Could I possibly- Just this once?”

Bahorel sighed. “You’re drunk, Feuilly.”

“Please?” he pleaded.

Bahorel hesitated. “I don’t know- Okay.” He paused. “Just this once.”

Feuilly’s heart was beating fast as he moved closer. Bahorel was close, so close, and he was beautiful.

Bahorel didn’t move, and Feuilly carefully slid one hand round the back of his neck, his fingers threading through his beautiful long hair. He breathed out softly and stared straight at Bahorel, fighting to memorise the way he looked that close. And then he pressed his lips against Bahorel’s.

He hadn’t known what he would feel when he finally kissed Bahorel. He’d assumed there’d be so much going through his mind that he wouldn’t have felt or thought at all. He’d been wrong. Every single part of him, every nerve, every synapse, every cell, was on fire with the single thought of _Bahorel_.

He drew the kiss out, taking everything into memory, knowing he’d never get that again.

He opened his eyes a second before he pulled away and Bahorel’s eyes were closed, probably not wanted to see Feuilly like that. Feuilly sighed as he pulled away.

Bahorel stepped backwards and Feuilly’s hand fell limply by his side. “Thanks,” he muttered, averting his gaze.

Bahorel rubbed at his arm and gave a half shrug. “Let’s get you back.”

-

Mind still fuzzy, Feuilly rolled over onto his side and thought bitterly, _‘If these sheets were the states, huh,_ ’ in reference to one of their own songs. He pushed the curtain aside a little and stared across the narrow walkway to where Bahorel’s bunk was.

He frowned.

Bahorel’s light was on, and Feuilly could see his profile as a silhouette against the fabric.

Lying there, staring, Feuilly wasn’t sure what to do. He watched in silence as Bahorel shifted, sitting up straighter and leaning against the back wall, the top of his head brushing the roof. Then Bahorel sighed, heavily, and Feuilly didn’t have the time to hide before his friend was pushing the curtain of his bunk aside and swinging his legs round, hopping down.

Bahorel straightened up and glanced towards Feuilly. He obviously hadn’t expected Feuilly to be there visibly, and he flinched as they made eye contact. Quickly looking the other way he hurried from the room and into the living space.

Feuilly breathed out heavily. Time started to tick by and he counted the seconds with the heavy beat of his heart.

He slipped out of his bed.

Padding across the carpeted floor, he couldn’t know if it was a good idea or a very, very bad one.

Bahorel wasn’t facing him when Feuilly pushed the door open. He was sat on one of the sofas, knees pulled up to his chest, staring at the wall.

Feuilly clicked the door shut behind him and he could see Bahorel tensing up. “Bahorel?” Feuilly broke the silence delicately. Bahorel didn’t respond. “Look, Bahorel, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, I was so drunk- _am_ so drunk.”

Bahorel still didn’t speak. Feuilly took a step forwards and took a deep breath, “You were just there and _so fucking beautiful_ and I couldn’t think right and-”

“Shut up.” It was barely more than a hoarse whisper but it was enough for Feuilly to listen to.

Feuilly watched, scared, as Bahorel took a large gulp of the beer that Feuilly hadn’t even known he was drinking. He let his body go slack and leant up against the wall, waiting in silence for Bahorel to speak, to shout, to rant, to tell him that he was fucked up, to tell him to leave, whatever.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Bahorel asked. “Why didn’t you- We’ve been best friends for so long- Why-”

“Because you didn’t want to know,” Feuilly said, simply. “I was gonna, back in high school, but then I missed my chance; you were gone. We were whisked away by fame and fortune, and then you started with the girls.

“Also,” he said carefully, “If you knew, you’d stop, uh, y’know, touching me and, uh...” He trailed off.

Bahorel sighed. Then he put his head down a little before he sat up and span round in his seat to look at Feuilly for the first time, “But, fuck, if you were that cut up about it, I would have wanted to know. I could have- I could have- I-”

“Could have _what_ , Bahorel?” Feuilly interrupted. “Not flirted with me on stage and in interviews? Not slept in the same bed as me when you were too lazy to get to your own room? Not smiled, not laughed, not been _you_?” He laughed softly. “Bahorel, I wouldn’t have wanted that.”

“There must have been something,” Bahorel mumbled.

“There wasn’t,” Feuilly said. “The only way you could have stopped me from loving you was if you had walked away the second we met, and it’s a little late for that now.”

“I meant, there must have been something I could have done to make it not hurt you,” Bahorel whispered and he took another large gulp of beer.

Feuilly shrugged. “Nah, not really.” He swallowed. “Well, I mean, nothing that I’d ever ask of you.”

Bahorel nodded sullenly and sat back down on the sofa, facing away from Feuilly again. Feuilly took that to be an invitation and walked over to flop down on the sofa next to him (but not too close).

“Oh, Feuilly,” Bahorel sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Feuilly replied, not looking at him.

“Don’t apologise,” Bahorel chastised him automatically. “I should be the one apologising.”

Feuilly looked at him incredulously, “Why?”

“For never noticing,” he said.

“Why should you have?”

“Because you’re my best friend!” Bahorel exploded, he turned to face Feuilly again, “You’re my best friend, and I should have noticed.”

Feuilly shrugged. “What difference would it have made?”

They sat in silence for a long while, both unable to answer Feuilly’s question. Bahorel passed his bottle of beer to Feuilly silently, and Feuilly took a large gulp before passing it back.

Feuilly was hesitant to ask, but he decided it was then or never, and he said quietly, “Have you ever, even just once, thought of me like that?”

Bahorel didn’t answer for a short while, and he took another drink of beer while Feuilly’s heart tried to jump into his mouth. “Once,” Bahorel admitted.

Feuilly looked at him in shock, “When?”

Bahorel took another drink. “Christmas. Two years back.”

Feuilly frowned, trying to remember if there had been anything special about that night.

Bahorel chewed at his lip, “It was late at night. R and the others all went out partying. We stayed at my house. You remember?”

“I’m not sure,” Feuilly said.

Bahorel smiled softly, “Well, there’s some irony for you. Uh, it was nearing one in the morning and we were sat on my back doorstep, smoking and drinking. You were trying to count the stars. You- You- You looked beautiful. I remember not being able to breathe, and thinking that I could kiss you right then if I wanted to.”

Feuilly was staring at him, wide-eyed. He knew that feeling well. He felt it every time he was alone with Bahorel.

“I didn’t. You know that. But I thought I was in love with you. There wasn’t a single other person on the planet that I would have traded you for in that moment.”

“What happened?” Feuilly asked, his voice hushed.

Bahorel didn’t even seem to have heard him, “There was a second, where you looked at me, and I thought you felt the same. I mean, I guess you did. Then you blinked and looked away.”

It was all starting to sound familiar to Feuilly.

“We even slept in the same bed that night. I complained that I was cold, and you, you didn’t even protest. You just went with me.”

Feuilly didn’t know what to say; of course he remembered that night.

“The next day, though, I couldn’t get that feeling back.” Bahorel closed his eyes and sighed. “I tried to, believe me. But I couldn’t. We woke up in the morning, and you were so hungover, but you had your arm around me and you tried to hide from the day in my neck, and fuck it was so- it was so- we were like a couple. And all I felt was that lack of feeling.”

“You tried to?” Feuilly asked.

Bahorel shrugged and looked at his hands. “Where would we be if I had?”

Feuilly smiled and let his imagination take over. “We’d probably be cramped into one bunk, and you’d be complaining that I’m taking all the covers, even though really, I’m letting you have them all.” Feuilly was staring at his hands as he talked. “You’d put your fucking cold feet on me and I’d complain and poke you in the side, but not really care at all, because I love you so fucking much.”

Bahorel sighed. “Sounds good,” he said.

Feuilly’s eyes flickered up to look at him. “You think?”

Bahorel avoided meeting his gaze. “Yeah.”

“Then why not?” Feuilly asked immediately.

Bahorel sighed again and pressed his fingertips into his eyelids, rubbing at them tiredly. “It wouldn’t work, Feuilly.” He looked at Feuilly with sadness etched into the lines on his face. “I already said, I couldn’t get that feeling back.”

“When did you last try to?” Feuilly pointed out.

“Over a year ago,” Bahorel admitted.

“Could you try again?”

“That’s not how love works, Feuilly,” Bahorel told him. “I can’t just click my heels and wish for it.”

“How did you feel that Christmas?”

Bahorel sighed. “Like I’d never felt before.” He paused. Then, “Like I’d never felt anything before, and I never would again.”

“I feel that way every day,” Feuilly told him. “And I feel like I’m lost in a storm and you’re my lighthouse. Like I’m sinking in quicksand and you’re my rope. Like I’m drowning in alcohol and you’re my coffee.”

Bahorel nodded. “Like I’m fighting a losing battle, but it doesn’t matter, because at least you’re on my side.”

“Like I’m falling, and falling, and falling, but you’re going to catch me,” Feuilly said quietly.

“Like I’m going to kiss you,” Bahorel whispered, and then he did.

Bahorel’s head was spinning and all he knew was that he had his lips on Feuilly’s for the second time in one night and nothing had ever felt more right.

Feuilly’s kiss was desperate and needy, and Bahorel was equally so.

Feuilly turned his body and put one leg on the other side of Bahorel so that he was straddling him. He brought his hands to the back of Bahorel’s neck and gripped him tightly, holding him close. Bahorel’s arms slipped around Feuilly’s waist and his hands clutched at the back of his shirt.

Bahorel let out a small whine and Feuilly kissed him harder. “Fuck,” Feuilly whispered, against Bahorel’s lips, as he tried to remember all the reasons why he’d never done that before.

A tear slipped from Bahorel’s eye, trailing down his cheek, and Feuilly felt it get lost between their lips. He pulled back slightly and kissed Bahorel’s cheek, “What’s wrong?” He asked, “What’s wrong, Bahorel?”

Bahorel moaned and pressed their foreheads together. “I don’t love you,” he sobbed. “You’re perfect, and you’re here, and that was the best kiss of my life, and I don’t love you.”

Feuilly peppered Bahorel’s face with gentle kisses before sitting back on Bahorel’s knee and carefully stroking Bahorel’s face, brushing his hair out of the way and running his thumb under his eye to wipe away the tears that now fell freely. “Shhh,” he hushed, soothingly. “It’s okay, it’s okay, you don’t have to love me, it’s okay.” He kissed Bahorel on the tip of his nose. “You don’t have to love me,” he repeated.

Bahorel whined and kissed Feuilly’s lips again. “But I want to,” he admitted. “Oh, fuck, do I want to.”

Feuilly looked at him sadly, not knowing what he was supposed to say. “I’m sorry,” he said, eventually. “I’m sorry.”

Bahorel shook his head. “Stop saying that.” He couldn’t help the yawn that was building inside of him and he rubbed at his eyes.

Feuilly smiled, a small smile. “C’mon, back to bed.”

Bahorel shook his head again, eyes begging. “No, stay here, with me. Please.”

Feuilly hesitated. “Alright,” he said quietly. He pulled himself off Bahorel and manhandled his friend – or whatever they were – until they were stretched out as best they could on the sofa. Bahorel’s back was pressed against Feuilly’s chest and Feuilly wrapped his arm around Bahorel. Bahorel’s hand found Feuilly’s and linked them together.

As they drifted off, Feuilly could feel Bahorel’s body tremble and every now and then Bahorel would squeeze Feuilly’s hand a little too tightly – almost as if he were reassuring himself that Feuilly was there.

They fell asleep like that, curled up together.

-

Bahorel was still asleep when Feuilly woke up.

Gently kissing the back of Bahorel’s neck, Feuilly extracted himself from his place on the sofa, praying to God that Bahorel wouldn’t wake up.

Bahorel shifted slightly in his sleep, but didn’t wake up. Feuilly climbed over the back of the sofa so that he was stood behind Bahorel.

Then he turned on his heel and left the bus.

-

Bahorel woke up two hours later when Grantaire purposefully sat on him. Bahorel would have sat up with a yell if it wasn’t for the fact that that was impossible. Instead he just kind of spasmed and grunted.

Blearily, he blinked and looked around, one hand reaching out for Feuilly. Finding only empty space he turned his head to look where Feuilly should be and frowned. “Where’s Feuilly?” he mumbled.

Grantaire looked down at him, looking confused, and said, “He’s probably still in bed, right? I mean, that hangover’s gotta be a killer.” Then Grantaire raised an eyebrow, “Speaking of bed, what the Hell are you doing out here?”

Bahorel shrugged, pushing at Grantaire’s side until he got up, “Nothing,” he muttered. Standing up, Bahorel ran a hand through his hair and wobbled on his feet a little.

Grantaire watched him, curiously, “Are you alright?”

Bahorel shook himself, “Yeah, fine. I’m going to find Feuilly.”

Grantaire didn’t say anything as Bahorel left the room, he just chewed his lip and watched nervously. Bahorel bumped into Joly on the way out, grabbing hold of Joly’s arms to hold him steady, but he didn’t say a word and continued on into the sleeping area, pretending he didn’t hear Grantaire say, “Something’s not right with him.”

Bahorel stared at Feuilly’s empty bunk in frustration. He turned around and grabbed a fresh t-shirt, pulling it on over his head roughly. His hand hovered over a beanie that belonged to Feuilly that was lying on Feuilly’s bunk. He ran his fingers over the fabric. His hands gripped the edge of Feuilly’s bunk and he rested his forehead against it. Sighing heavily, he stood up straight, ready to go and find Feuilly. At the last moment, he grabbed Feuilly’s beanie and pulled it on over his head.

He stomped back into the living space. Grantaire and Joly looked up at him as he entered. Bahorel didn’t want to stop to talk, and he carried on towards the bus exit.

Joly spoke up as he reached the door. “Isn’t that Feuilly’s?”

“Yes,” Bahorel replied shortly.

It was cold outside and he shivered the second the cold air hit his skin. He prayed to God that he’d find Feuilly quickly. He wandered down the street, away from the parked bus, and stared around him. Feuilly could be anywhere.

He shoved his hands into his jean’s pockets, regretting not grabbing a coat, and continued on down the street. He scuffed his foot along the pavement a little, looking into every shop window he passed. Bahorel wasn’t particularly optimistic about finding Feuilly quickly.

After wandering for almost twenty minutes he’d almost given up hope.

Then he saw that familiar scruff of hair.

Feuilly was slumped dejectedly at a table in a small cafe, a mug of coffee between his hands.

Bahorel pushed open the door and went inside. The man behind the counter nodded and said, “Good morning.”

Bahorel nodded at him and continued on in Feuilly’s direction. He stood beside Feuilly’s table and looked down at him, “Why did you leave?” He asked.

Feuilly’s head shot up. His eyes were red-rimmed and a little bloodshot. “Bahorel,” he said, surprised.

Bahorel slid into the seat opposite and looked at him seriously, “Why did you leave?”

Feuilly sighed and took a gulp of his drink.

“Please,” Bahorel said softly, “Don’t make me ask again.”

Feuilly’s eyes flicked up to meet Bahorel’s. He shrugged slightly.

“No,” Bahorel said, “I’m not taking your bullshit. Why did you leave, _Feuilly_?”

Feuilly stayed silent a moment longer, before answering, “I thought it would be easier.”

“Why?” Bahorel asked flatly. “Why the fuck would you think that it would be easier for me to wake up _alone_?”

“Because you were confused,” Feuilly explained, half-heartedly, “And you were scared, and uncertain, and I thought- I thought you’d tell me to get lost.”

Bahorel sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “You should have stayed.”

“Why?”

Bahorel looked at him sharply, “Because maybe I wanted to wake up _with_ you, Feuilly! Maybe I wanted to wake up with you, the same way I fell asleep with you. Maybe sleeping with your arms around me was the best Goddamn thing to happen to me in a while, and maybe I fucking wanted to wake up like that too!”

Feuilly looked like he was about to say something, but Bahorel wouldn’t let him. “Maybe I fell asleep last night feeling genuinely loved, and maybe I wanted to see you in the morning, maybe I liked the idea of waking up with you close by, and maybe I’m fucking in love with you, too!”

And then he got to his feet and stormed out of the cafe, leaving Feuilly staring at the vacant seat, his eyes wide.

Feuilly threw a five dollar note down on the table and ditched his coffee, leaving the cafe as fast as he could.

-

“Bahorel! Hey, Bahorel! Stop!”

Bahorel kept walking; head down, eyes blurry with tears that he wished weren’t there.

“Bahorel, I am talking to you!”

People’s heads turned to look at the two men as the first determinedly ignored the second’s desperate shouting as he attempted to catch up.

Reaching Bahorel, Feuilly grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop, spinning him to face him. “Bahorel, stop.”

Feuilly flinched in surprise at Bahorel’s tear-soaked face and pulled his hand back. Feuilly shook his head slightly. “Bahorel, what the Hell?”

Bahorel sniffed and let out a sound that was close to a whine.

“Seriously, what the Hell. That was- Not what you said last night.”

Bahorel wiped at his face, angrily. “I don’t fucking know, alright?”

Feuilly frowned at him.

Bahorel cursed, running his hands through his hair. “I don’t know how I feel!” he burst out. “I don’t fucking know how I feel! I love you, but I don’t know if I’m in love with you, and I don’t- I don’t know- I-” Bahorel broke off with a sob and a hiccough and his face crumpled.

Feuilly’s jaw slackened slightly and he didn’t know what to say.

Then he reached out and pulled his best friend in, holding him tightly against his chest and making soothing noises, his lips pressed against his head. “It’s okay, Bahorel, it’s okay...”

Bahorel’s body shook as his arms wrapped around Feuilly. Despite being in the middle of the pavement they sank to the floor, clinging onto each other, and they sat there as Bahorel cried and Feuilly desperately tried to hold it together.

“I don’t deserve you,” Bahorel whispered. Then, “I don’t deserve your love.”

Feuilly sighed. “Yes you do, Bahorel, yes you do. C’mon, you never thought you didn’t deserve me before.”

“You’re- You’re in love with me, and I don’t know what to do with that, Feuilly,” Bahorel mumbled.

Feuilly offered him a smile. “Look, if you want to give it a go, then obviously I’m okay with that. I’m okay with whatever you want. Yes, I love you. No, I don’t expect you to love me back.”

Bahorel stared up at him, and he said, “I think I could love you.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Feuilly replied. He pressed a careful kiss to Bahorel’s forehead. “Before _everything,_ I am your friend.”

Bahorel nods, weakly, watery-eyed. “Thanks, Feuilly.”

“My pleasure,” Feuilly replies, wiping away a tear from Bahorel’s cheek. “How about we find somewhere warmer to sit, yeah? This street corner’s not very comfortable.”

Bahorel lets out a soft laugh and nods. “Sure.”

“Coffee?”

“Coffee sounds like a good place to start.”

Feuilly gets to his feet and offers Bahorel his hand to help him up. Bahorel takes it.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> I have a writing blog: theskyis-forever come say hi and leave a prompt :)
> 
> also, if you enjoyed this: [buy me a coffee?](http://ko-fi.com/A831F9U)


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